Page 18 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

“You don’t look pleased,” I comment. “You were quiet the entire meeting. Something on your mind? Did your meeting with the client not go well?”

“It did,” he says. “Go well, that is. And I am happy that I made partner. My dad is happy as well, so that’s good. I thought I’d listen and take it all in. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

Having known Peter as long as I have, I know he’s hiding something. And I have an inkling as to what that might be. Someone—someone with a temper like lightning, pale pink lips, and a stubborn chin, must have rained on his parade.

What the hell is wrong with Savannah Richmond?

“Your sister—”

I watch the look on his face go from partial interest to piqued interest. It’s a pity that Savannah cannot see how much her brother cares for her.

“Your sister,” I go on. “We’ve met. It was a brief meeting, so I didn’t recall until I met with the attorney she is currently working with, and he mentioned her name. You’ve seen her, though, right?” I ask casually.

“Even if she doesn’t want to be seen with you, I don’t think this building is big enough that won’t run into each other.”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding deflated. “We’ve crossed paths.”

And I bet she did not have a nice word to say.

I exhale.

As much as I want to help, it’s not my place to step in. I don’t know how to handle family drama, being the only child of an attorney who spent more time in the courtroom and office than with his family.

Getting up, I pat Peter on the back.

“I’m expecting a continuous streak of wins from you. I’ll be in my office.”

I head out of the conference room, acknowledging the polite nods on the way. I press the button on the elevator doors and as soon as I step in, I hear, “Wait! Hold the elevator!”

A voice calls out frantically. Instincts kick in, and I put my hand out to keep the doors from closing, as a woman with bouncy blond curls barges into the elevator.

“Thank you,” she mutters breathlessly.

“You’re—"

The words die on my tongue when our eyes meet in the reflective wall of the elevator. I exhale heavily.

“Miss Richmond,” I say testily.

“Sir,” she addresses me with a lot of sarcasm attached to the honorific.

What should I say next? Nothing, I tell myself. It’s best to be silent because I know from experience what happens when Savannah Richmond and I are left alone together.

“I—I apologize for what happened the other day when we met, sir.”

My eyes widen in shock. Did she just?

“I know,” she says, seeing the surprise on my face in the reflection. “I should have apologized sooner, but I was going through a lot. Still,” she clears her throat, “it doesn’t excuse my behavior.”

“I’m hoping you can forgive me.”

My eyes narrow as her apology continues, and my attorney instincts force me to read between the lines.

“You met with your fiancé, didn’t you?”

“Ex. But yes I met with him. How did you know,” she asks.

I shrug. “How do you think? So, let me guess. He begged you to take him back, and you agreed because you didn’t want to give the ring back?”

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